Resilience

Time, considered in the only form that I really know and that is what I have gone through every day with my life, has been studded with "maybe", "hypotheses", "returns" to a golden age that instead, most likely, it never existed.

Of course, there was a time when she and I were together, and there was another, and another: a collection of moments. But if I go to see the exoskeleton of that feeling the way an entomologist would do with a magnifying glass, then I would begin to notice imperfections, ripples.

And these would not make those moments less beautiful, less full of light or less valid to be lived, or even recalled and relived again. But it would help to "not remember", or at least to avoid as much as possible to falsely remember, to attribute all happiness to that small place and time: it is a mistake that we tend to make due to inexperience or lack of courage, because it takes courage to put enthusiasm and care into life, to the point that we could have a new life at every step.

And of course, it may well be that there was an "easier" time, but there is still no golden age that can anchor us, bind us to any definition of time, be it the ballast of the past or the deflated desires of the future , or even a present devoid of curiosity.

Memory is often a process of mystification: perhaps good literature can also be made of it, even poetry. But the vital impulse - this pervasive instinct that we all possess, this dance of the spirit, this unnameable soul - is a more ferocious gift, and one that can do even better things.

We just have to say: Yes.